Notes from Kirkwall: Side Stories from A Sane Mage
by Inkstainedgwyn
Summary: A closer look at the lives of some of Elisebeth Hawke's friends, set in the AU from Why Can't I Meet A Sane Mage? Some romance, some adventure, some humour, some fluff. Ch 3 - The Taming of the Wolf pt. 4:  Fenris/Orana . T for language. Please R&R!
1. The Taming of the Wolf, pt 1

_Yes, because I totally stayed away for what, almost 48 hours? This will be one of two more stories set in the Sane Mage AU - the other will follow our friends after DA2, once they flee to Starkhaven. Before, during, and after the epilogue. Both this and it will be slower going, as I have no particular goal - I just can't leave them alone, and I keep getting brainworm ideas. I'm not as happy with this as I was with A Sane Mage, because it's harder to write Orana than it is Lise, and Fen isn't as smooth as Orsino - but I think I'll get into it. I'll have something for most, if not all of the companions - Sebastian/Flora, Nate/Bethany, etc - so if there's anything you'd like to see more of, just say the word! They may be shorter chapters; expect each vignette to span 2-4 chapters, most likely. **Also, for this, it was brought to my attention that Fenris was swearing using "Maker" as an expletive. As this is not something he would do in game (sorry, I'm still focused on writing for Lise and Varric!) I've changed it, apologies if it sounded off!**_

_Without further ado, our lyrium warrior makes his debut - angrily. I love you, Fen!_

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><p><em>The Taming of The Wolf, part 1.<em>

Fenris was irritated, and he wasn't sure whether to blame it on Hawke or Hadriana. If the magister hadn't brought her entire bloody household – _ugh, what an awful pun_ – to use as ritual fodder while chasing him down, the whole issue could have been avoided. But had it _really_ been necessary for Hawke to bring the girl _home_? Sure, she was naïve – there was no way she'd survive on the streets, alone. Sure, she was an amazing servant. _But there are over a hundred noble estates in this district alone, and she probably would have been just as happy in a well-to-do household, of which there are countless more._ As it was, he now had to deal with his irritation every time he came to visit.

It wasn't that Orana _herself_ was irritating. On the contrary – she was unflaggingly kind, if meek as a mouse – she was "sweet," as Leandra dubbed her. And that was the problem. Mild-mannered to the core, she went about her duties at the estate – cleaning, cooking, and acting as a sort of maid to both Hawke and her mother – quietly and cheerfully. _How in Thedas can she act like nothing's wrong? She spent the first eighteen years of her life as a slave. I know how Hadriana treated _me_; I can only imagine what she had to go through. How can she be so content, now that she knows what they did to her?_

It had all started when he and Hawke, with Varric and Anders in tow, had tracked Hadriana to a previously-abandoned set of caverns, once used as a holding area for slaves. On one hand, he really hadn't wanted the mage along – he _never_ wanted mages along – but they'd been ambushed while on the way to another job Hawke had undertaken and he'd had no say in who she brought along on those trips. On the other hand, maybe it would scare some sense into the fool, when he saw some of what heinous acts were committed in the search for more power – Fenris _knew_ there would be plenty of blood magic going on if a Tevinter magister was present.

He'd been right, of course. The place reeked of fresh blood – he could smell it so strongly that it made him feel ill, and he knew that even without his sense of smell the others could sense it. Fresh corpses were everywhere, and were there were more corpses, there were more demons and shades. As for the number of slave hunters, well – that was a given.

After walking into the third room filled with even more hunters, his anger level peaked at an all-time high since – well, for as long as he could remember having known Hawke, at least. He barreled into the room, ahead of the others – he really didn't want to see, yet again, the worried looks that Hawke and Varric were exchanging – and began to lay into Hadriana's soldiers with his greatsword. He'd just finished decapitating one when he sensed another behind him; he whirled around with his sword raised and only just managed to pull the blow in time when the non-large-or-armour-clad individual screamed in terror.

A very frightened, very young-looking elven girl stood, frozen, in front of him, looking as if she were about to pass out in fear. His first thought was_, She's _alive – he gasped out, "Are you all right?" – and his second thought was – _and I almost killed her_. Hawke rushed to his side and he fell back slightly; once the girl was confronted with someone other than himself she seemed to calm down a little. _So why was it_ me _she looked at when she asked if I was her new master?_

Everything after that was still a blur. He didn't remember much of the rest of that day – just losing his temper at Hawke several times, which she didn't deserve, yet very graciously accepted. She understood why he was so upset, even if she didn't like it. That understanding was one of the reasons he respected her so much – she was probably the best friend he'd ever had, or could ever remember having.

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><p>It was the next day, when he'd gone to apologize to Hawke for his behaviour, that he first learned Orana's name. The two friends had reconciled quickly – Hawke was never one to hold a grudge, though she did take him to task for breaking a promise he'd made to Hadriana. That, in turn, made him feel guilty, which brought the irritation back. When the conversation – wisely, though against his will – turned to his sister and whether Hadriana had been lying about her, he lost his temper again, bringing his fist down onto the table next to the divan in Hawke's study.<p>

Just as Orana – whom he hadn't even noticed as she came in, so quiet was she and so angry was he – was about to set a tray of drinks and turnovers down upon the aforementioned table.

She squeaked, jumped back, and fled – though not before carefully setting the tray upon the desk, which showed her training; good slaves _never_ dropped trays – or anything else, for that matter – no matter the circumstances, as Fenris well remembered. He swore in Arcanum as Hawke went to the desk to pick up the tray; she raised an eyebrow as she set the cups down and merely said, mildly, "Do please try not to frighten her _too_ badly."

Hawke had apparently spoken to Orana about him that night, because the next time he'd met her she seemed to be wary, but less timid, though she still did not speak; even when he'd had words with Hawke concerning Anders, she hadn't done much other than blink and start a little. Somehow, that made him feel a little more guilty – she'd been free for less than a month and was already adapting. He just didn't understand it. She also seemed to watch him whenever he visited, which he understood even less.

No, the first time they'd actually spoken – apart from "please," "thank you," and (frequently from him) "blast it, I'm _sorry_" - had been only the day before. Hawke had given him a gift – _The Book of Shartan_, since he'd been asking questions about Andraste and the Dales (he knew much more about her overthrow of the Tevinter Imperium, as that was a favourite subject of his.) He'd been forced to admit that he could not read, and although he accepted when she'd offered to teach him, he was feeling badly embarrassed until Orana spoke up, quietly.

"Please, Mistress – would you teach me, as well? I cannot read, but have always wanted to. You've got so many books here."

Hawke looked surprised and pleased. "Of course, Orana! In fact, if Fenris doesn't mind, I can teach the both of you together." She looked at him, and he blinked, then looked at Orana, who had glanced away, blushing.

He flushed. "Why are you asking me, Hawke? You're the one doing the teaching."

She smiled, cheerfully. "That's settled, then!" She bustled off to the upper level of the study and he heard her pulling books off the shelves, murmuring to herself. He sighed, and looked back at Orana, then started as he saw that she'd sat down on the divan, as well.

Clasping her hands, she continued to blush as she looked down. "Thank you, Master Fenris. It's something I wanted to ask Mistress Hawke about, but could never find the courage."

He shook his head. "Don't ever call me Master!" He caught himself before he'd gotten too loud; she was still looking down, and although she winced at his tone, she nodded. He continued, keeping his voice level. "Just- I understand why you call Hawke Mistress, but you're free now, Orana. She wants the best for you, so you don't have to be afraid." Orana nodded again, but still would not look up.

He stood, sighing. "It's getting late, Hawke. We'll start this school of yours another day."

Orana looked up. "But, Mas- messe- _serah_. I've just finished cooking dinner, won't you stay?" She reached out as she said this; her hand only lightly touched his arm but it was enough and he jerked back. "_Don't!_"

She cringed away and he winced, running a hand over his face. "It's not you, Orana. I'm - sorry." He turned and saw that Hawke had come back to the fire and was watching him with a raised eyebrow. "I'll see you in a few days. Send word whenever you want to start-" he waved at the room "-this thing." She nodded, and he left as quickly as he could without running.

* * *

><p>The next morning he was startled by a knock at his door. Hawke never knocked – she just walked in, knowing that standing around at the front door would just call attention to the estate. Usually only the authorities, sent to investigate rumours of vagrants and squatters. ever knocked. Aveline usually did a good job of keeping her guardsmen away, but apparently today she'd failed.<p>

He stood next to the cellar door, preparing to dive in the minute the door opened, but as the minutes passed, nothing happened. He frowned. _The first knock is usually only ever on habit, they then come right in – though the fools don't realize that they're alerting any squatters that _might _be inside in plenty of time for them to hide. I guess they're just hoping to trick someone into answering the door. Or, they're stupid_. He chuckled, grimly. _My guess is that it's the latter._

While he was thinking this, he'd crept into the foyer and up to the small, thin window next to the door. It showed a small portion of the front steps – and he could see no one at the door. Fenris frowned and straightened up; he started to put the empty bottle he'd picked up as a weapon down in the corner – it was always helpful to cultivate a derelict look with plenty of refuse – when the knock came again. He grabbed the door handle, raised the bottle as a makeshift club, and pulled the door open – just in time to see Orana, who was carrying a covered plate, blink and cringe. She was so short and slight that she'd been invisible from the window.

He swore to himself, and thinking quickly, reached out to grab her wrist, pulling her inside. Slamming the door, he put the bottle down on the floor and stayed in a crouched position while he willed the adrenaline rush to go away. Orana, meanwhile, stood frozen. Once he could breathe normally, he looked up at her. "I'm sorry. It's just bad to have anyone standing too long outside, lest they call unnecessary attention to this place."

She looked stricken. "I'm so sorry, serah."

Fenris stood – slowly, as he tried his best to keep from doing anything else to frighten her – and shook his head. "Don't be sorry, you couldn't know." He smiled faintly. "If anything, blame Hawke for not telling you."

"Oh! No! I could never blame Mistress Hawke for anything!"

He laughed at this, the sound surprising them both. "You haven't known her for as long as I have. But I really wish you'd stop calling me serah. It makes me feel… uneasy."

She nodded, slowly. "I'll… try." Looking down, she seemed to remember the plate she carried, for she held it out. "I baked this morning, and since you didn't stay for supper last night…"

He blinked. "For me? Thank you." He took it slowly. "I'm sorry I was an ass last night. I'm sorry I _keep_ acting like an ass. I'm always like this, I'm afraid. Just ask Hawke."

She shook her head. "Oh, no, Mas- Fenris. Mistress Hawke… told me about you. I was surprised that you'd been a slave – I didn't realize you were the one Mistress Hadriana was looking for." She looked down at her feet. "And I didn't know about your tattoos, though Mistress told me about them last night. They hurt, don't they?"

He flushed – his markings were not his favourite subject, but she could not know that, so he forced himself to speak calmly. "Sometimes, but usually it's just that… I get startled, easily. But they _are_ hyper-sensitive." He sighed, turning to place the plate on a nearby table. "You probably won't want to spend too much time around me. You've seen how I am, and I'm sure Hawke can tell you more horror stories."

Orana shook her head, flushing. "I… would rather talk to you sometimes, if you don't mind. You were a slave, too – I feel more comfortable around you. It's strange to be free."

He looked at her, incredulously. "Even though I've almost killed you several times?"

She shook her head. "But I don't think you really would."

Fenris frowned. "That's just the problem, Orana. It wouldn't be intentional." He turned, pacing a little. "How do you do it? I just can't understand you."

She blinked. "How do I do what?"

"_Trust_ everyone, so easily. It even took me the better part of a year to trust _Hawke_, yet you seem to have accepted her completely. After what you've been through, how can you trust _anyone_?"

Orana looked nonplussed. "I don't understand what you mean, Fenris. Mistress Hawke is nothing like Mistress Hadriana. She freed me, and if it wasn't for her I wouldn't even have a home. How can I not trust her?"

"But doesn't it make you angry? Living as you do now, you _have_ to know the difference between your old life and your new one. Aren't you mad at the people who held you, who enslaved you and your father and grandfather before you? They're the reason your life is like this."

"Like what? I have a home, and Mistress Hawke takes wonderful care of me and even pays me. Everyone else is so kind, I'm allowed to do anything I want, and I'm even going to learn how to read. Why would I think about being a slave anymore? I'm not. Mistress Hadriana is dead. I would think she'd be happy if I was still sad because of her."

Fenris blinked and just stared at Orana. After a few moments she began to blush, and ducked her head. "Mistress Hawke will be looking for me soon, I should go."

He watched her leave, still unable to say a word.

* * *

><p><em>The characters belong to Bioware, I just borrow them.<em>


	2. The Taming of the Wolf, pt 2

_Well, things have picked up, and I've gotten into it. Apologies to anyone who might have noticed that Fen's tone was a bit off in the last chapter; I've updated a bit and I'm hoping he'll be a bit more like himself here (although _my_ himself, not really the one from the game.) Poor Fen, so flustered around girls, especially cute ones._

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><p><em>The Taming of the Wolf, part 2.<em>

Usually, Fenris would go visit Hawke several times a week, if not daily. It got him out of his 'rat hole' as Varric called it – he knew that Hawke really hated that he'd never cleaned the place up after Danarius, but he felt more at home in its current state of disrepair. To be honest, the only reason Hawke's home – in the richest part of Kirkwall – didn't make him feel uneasy was simply because Hawke was there, and he was comfortable with her. The surroundings _always_ felt too rich for him.

Unfortunately, he no longer felt so comfortable. The idea of going to visit made his back twitch, and on the fourth day since he'd seen Hawke - the third since Orana had come to see him – he was sitting at his table after scrounging for lunch when she walked through his front door.

He turned when the door opened, not sure who he was expecting; he relaxed, however, when he saw who it was. "Hello, Hawke. Got something planned?"

She shook her head, her eyebrow raised. "Not really – I was just coming to make sure you hadn't gotten sick or left town." When he blinked at her, she sighed. "Orana thinks she said something to upset you and wanted me to come tell you that if you'd like to come over, she can make sure to be elsewhere when you do."

Fenris had the grace to blush. "It's not-" He sighed, trailing off. As Hawke raised her eyebrow again, he frowned. "All right, so it _is_ her. But she doesn't need to go away – she doesn't _bother_ me. I just feel so _awkward_ around her. But I'm an adult, and I can get past it. I suppose you'll be ready to start those reading lessons, soon?"

She'd tilted her head and was giving him a curious look, but then nodded as he finished. "I am, whenever you're ready. I've spent the time you were absent-" _She's not going to let that go, is she?_ "-testing Orana to see where her level is; I know _you_ at least know your letters, you told me as much when you used that note to track Danarius to this mansion in the first place. She didn't, but she's been studying, and I think you two are probably about at the same place now."

He nodded. "Sorry I haven't been by lately, Hawke." When he saw her cautious nod he winced inwardly, realizing with a pang that she'd probably been feeling neglected. As he turned his head, he saw the plate Orana had brought over. The pastries had been exquisite, and he'd washed the dish carefully – whatever Varric might insinuate about his environment he _was_ a fanatic for cleanliness – but hadn't been able to bring himself to go back yet. He picked it up. "Well, I suppose there's no time like the present. If you _don't_ have anything planned, do you want to start it this afternoon?"

Hawke grinned. "Absolutely."

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><p>A month later, Fenris found himself groaning as he walked home from one of their late-evening reading sessions. Granted, he and Orana were making good progress, but that was because Hawke was a <em>sadist<em>. There wasn't a time they were together that she wasn't pushing him to read any scrap of text they came across. It wasn't so bad when she was just out with Varric and Sebastian, or Aveline – but when Isabela was in the party she was a _terrible_ tease, and he sometimes outright refused to do anything if Anders was around. He understood why Hawke did it, of course. But it was to the point where he was seeing signs for "Hightown" or "Ostwick", or advertisements for apothecaries in his _sleep_.

_Although, I suppose it's better to be dreaming about remedies for ague or the pox than it is to have Tevinter slave hunters haunting my rest. _He sighed. He couldn't complain too much. In the end, Orana had it worse - she had to read titles from every shelf in Hawke's library every time she dusted and he'd _seen_ what kind of magical and metaphysical nonsense was in there. Not to mention the fact that the place was the size of Gamlen's whole _house_. Or hovel, take your pick.

He closed the door to his estate, having made sure to slip in through the shadows – though at that time of night people were more likely to ignore the occasional individual seen sneaking around, because it wouldn't do to be the one to discover 'Lord So-and-So's' secret assignations with 'Lady Such-and-Such.' It was always better to be able to preface your gossip with "I heard it from someone else" than it was to be the one mentioning it firsthand. _I hate Hightown, sometimes_.

He sighed again. _And speaking of Orana…_ things were both better and worse around her. They'd talked a bit when he returned that day with Hawke, and he found himself assuring her that no, he _didn't_ want her to go away, and he _didn't_ dislike her company, and for some reason, she'd seemed quite pleased. It had reminded him that for all that she was so cheerful in her new life, her old one had still made its mark on her – for all that she'd do _anything_ Hawke asked her to, she was still reluctant to go outside, or have much dealing with strangers. That made the difference between her attitude towards the past and his own that much more marked.

The worst part was that he had a sneaking suspicion that she was right, for all that she was so unworldly and naïve. It was exactly the same as the argument he'd had with Hawke – the only real argument they'd ever had – after he'd killed Hadriana; she'd taken him to task and he'd been forced to admit, eventually, that he hadn't _wanted_ to kill the magister. He just hadn't been able to stop the hatred – and the problem with hatred was that once it faded, all you were usually left with was regret. Not that Hadriana deserved to live, but she shouldn't have been worth him breaking a sworn vow.

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><p>And so he caught himself watching the girl, bemusedly; apparently more than he realized because one day in late summer he and Hawke were sitting in his 'study' – as much as it could be called such – sharing a bottle of Aggregio Pavali, when she sat back and gave him a look. "So, when are you going to actually <em>say<em> something to Orana?"

He blinked at her, the bottle halfway to his mouth. "What are you talking about?" He finished his drink. "She and I talk all the time and I've even managed to stop frightening her every time I come over."

She scoffed. "You heard me, and that's _not_ what I meant. While it's rather endearing to watch you stare after her like a mooncalf, it's also making you less attentive. Although with how much more progress she's making, perhaps I'll have _her_ take over the lessons eventually. Maybe you'll pay attention then." She smirked as he flushed crimson.

"If you're implying that I have some special interest in Orana, you're mistaken, Hawke. I simply find it hard to understand her way of thinking." At her raised eyebrow, he added, reluctantly, "I find myself wondering if things might not actually _be_ easier if I could learn to think as she does."

Hawke ran a hand over her hair as she took the proffered bottle. "It's not a bad thought, Fen. The more people I meet, the more I realize that almost everyone has something to teach, whether by explanation or example – or even reverse example, because Maker knows there was nothing about Magistrate Vanard's son that _I'd_ want to exemplar." Fenris snorted in agreement, and she shook her head, but then gave a sly smile. "So what you're trying to say is that you don't find Orana attractive."

Fenris glared. "Of course not!"

"At all."

By this point he was blushing again and she laughed. "Oh, Fen, what am I going to do with you?"

"I don't know, Hawke, but if you don't stop the _nonsense,_ you're going to regret it if Varric ever manages to find _you_ a husband."

She scoffed again. "_That's_ unlikely." They laughed and she handed him back the bottle, sobering a little. "Speaking of Varric – he tells me that Bartrand's in town."

Fenris sat up – this was news indeed. "When did he find out, and where is he?"

She shook her head. "I don't know when, but he stopped me when I was at the Hanged Man last night and told me. The weasel is somewhere in Hightown; once Varric's managed to track some of the supplies that he's been ordering, we'll go and… pay him a visit."

He nodded, then raised the bottle. With a grim smile, he toasted her. "To Bethany's vengeance, then."

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><p>Fenris limped through the door of Hawke's estate, wincing. They'd been in Bartrand's run-down estate all morning; from the elf's point of view the whole thing had been a fiasco. Not that they hadn't found the bastard – but he'd been so crazy, thanks to the influence of the lyrium idol they'd found in the deep roads, that there was no getting <em>anything<em> out of him. Hawke had brought Anders along; Fenris still couldn't understand how she could put _up_ with the apostate, especially since anyone who wasn't blind – except Hawke, apparently – could see that he was in love with her, and badly so. But he'd proven useful today, and had been able to at least clear Bartrand's mind up enough that he was no longer endangering everyone and trying to kill them all. _Too bad he hadn't managed it _before _the bastard stuck a dagger in my thigh. _He sighed, grimacing a bit at the searing pain; it was just above his knee, and it made walking a little difficult.

The other three had dragged the now-peaceful – though still crazy – dwarf off to the Chantry, as Hawke was hoping they'd be able to put him in a sanitarium and perhaps eventually cure him. Fenris thought it was a ridiculous thing to do, and had said so. As he'd griped at the time, "He wasn't under the influence of the idol when he locked us in and tried to abandon us, so why are we even debating this?"

Hawke had just given him a Look – he knew it was hard for _her_, too, thanks to what had happened to Bethany – but she'd left it up to Varric, who'd reluctantly put Bianca away. "I wanted my revenge, sure, but this isn't how it should end. Poor bastard's crazy; I can't just kill him like this."

When they got out of the estate, Hawke had taken one look at his leg and sent him back to her manor to have Orana patch it up, since he refused to let Anders use magic on him. When he got inside, he looked for her, but Bodahn said she was out. So he'd rinsed the wound out a bit in the garden and wrapped a clean-but-old rag around it, then sat down on the divan in the study hoping that his head would soon stop swimming so badly.

One of the things they'd discovered was that in Bartrand's insanity, he'd been force-feeding lyrium to all his guards and servants – which was why the ones who weren't dead were absolutely _crazy_ – and the stench and feel of the stuff was pervasive throughout the entire estate. There was a whole _cauldron_ of molten lyrium boiling over the fireplace – if that wasn't madness, Fenris didn't know what was. Within half an hour he'd had a headache, thanks to his tattoos; by the time they'd found Bartrand he'd been dizzy and it was more than likely the reason the dwarf had been able to catch him to stick the dagger in his thigh in the first place.

Leaning his head back with a sigh, he thought again about Varric and Bartrand, and then Hawke's agony over what had happened to Bethany. _If that's what having a family does for you, _no thank you_. It's probably better that I _don't_ remember Varania, if the other option is to let it cloud my judgment and cause me to make such bad decisions. I _know _this deal with Bartrand is going to come back and bite us in the end._

He couldn't deny that a part of him clung to the idea of a sister wistfully, however, and his mind was unfocused enough that he started wondering what she was like. Closing his eyes, a vague image of a small, slight, blonde elf with brilliant blue eyes came to mind; she smiled at him and he was about to hug her when he heard a gasp and a cry of, "Fenris!" The touch of a cool hand on his face caused him to open his eyes unsteadily.

"Varania?" He blinked in confusion, then realized he'd dozed off. Orana was standing over him; her touch on his forehead was what had woken him. She winced when he spoke, and shook her head.

"I'm Orana, Fenris." She sighed. "You've got a fever, and your leg is bleeding. What _happened_?"

He flushed slightly at the concern in her voice. "We ran into more resistance at Varric's brother's estate than we thought we would, and the brother got a lucky – or unlucky – hit in." He looked up, meeting her eyes – _I never realized they were so bright blue_ – and gave a wry smile. "Hawke said you'd be able to patch me up?"

She nodded. "I'll go get the medicine basket and some bandages." She flew to the door, looking anxious; within ten minutes she was back. "I've put the kettle on – you should drink some feverfew tea, too."

Fenris nodded, not speaking; she knelt next to the divan and carefully began to clean the wound. He hissed as the antiseptic touched the gash, and she looked up. "I'm so sorry!"

He shook his head, gritting his teeth a bit. "Don't be. It means it's working – please continue."

She nodded, but when she started to smoothe the ointment on, he hissed for a different reason; he hadn't realized how much of his tattoo was actually visible – she'd had to peel his leggings up past his knee – and her touch on his skin was making him acutely 'uncomfortable'. He bit his lip to keep from making any outward signs of distraction, all the while cursing Hawke for putting stupid ideas in his head in the first place. He was grateful when she finally finished binding it, and was almost relieved when she left to attend the whistle of the kettle.

He'd barely had time to reorganize his still-fuzzy thoughts when she came back, carrying a tray with a pot of tea, a cup, and some freshly-baked, buttered bread. It was one of the trays with a folding stand; she leaned down to set it across his lap and as her hair fell over her shoulder he caught a whiff of some flowery scent – he wasn't sure what, although he was knew Hawke would know, with her gardening obsession – and his head spun again. He choked out a "Thank you, Orana," and she gave him a small smile.

"Drink all of that, and rest. You probably shouldn't walk on your leg again today, and with that fever, you shouldn't be walking all over Hightown, anyhow. I'm sure Mistress Hawke will let you stay the night; I'll speak to her when she gets home." He looked up, alarmed; Orana had already turned to leave the study.

At the door, however, she paused, looking back. "I'm sorry I wasn't who you wanted me to be when you woke earlier," she said, in a small voice, then turned – it almost looked as if she were fleeing. He blinked, feeling completely confused.

_Between the lyrium and whatever nonsense Hawke put into my head, I'm a wreck._ He cursed quietly; he had an overwhelming urge to _escape_, but realized that, for the moment, he was trapped. Sighing, he picked up the teacup; at least Orana's tisanes were drinkable, unlike what Merrill usually came up with.

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><p><em>As always, the characters belong to Bioware, I just borrow them.<em>


	3. The Taming of the Wolf, pt 3

_One more chapter left after this; poor Fen. I should have known there would have been angst in trying to come to terms with his nicer, less angry self, but I guess he tried to keep most of it away from Hawke. Good thing Orana was there for him._

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><p><em>The Taming of the Wolf, part 3.<em>

A few weeks later he was sitting in his house, reading – he'd really come quite a ways and was now able to read simple children's primers and stories, although he frequently had to roll his eyes at the contents – when he was startled by a clunking sound, then a light clinking from the direction of his table. His head shot up, and he saw Hawke standing by the fireplace, where she'd just dropped a scroll upon the table.

She grinned at him. "Fenris, clean up your damn mansion. And fix it, while you're at it." When he blinked at her, she chuckled, shaking her head. "It's a disaster in here. The only good thing I can say is that you had the sense to clear out the bodies. But _Maker_, Fen. You could have at least gotten rid of their things, too."

He shook his head at her, smiling. "Hawke, you'll just have to put up with it. What am I supposed to do, have a spring cleaning day? Let's show all the neighbours that someone really is living here!"

She smirked – _whenever Hawke smirks I tend to get a bad feeling_. "But someone will be, starting today."

He raised an eyebrow, looking wary. "What did you say? If this is a joke, it _isn't_ funny, Hawke." He reached over and snatched up the scroll, unrolling it hastily. He tried to scan it but as it was a housing deed in legalese, he quickly shook his head. A name, however, caught his eye - "Prince Sebastian Vael." He relaxed slightly, but looked back at his friend. "What is this about?"

She laughed. "As you know, Prince Vael will be staying for an extended time in Kirkwall. And while you and I know that he lives at the Chantry for better or for worse, the nobility of Kirkwall need an address to put with the person. So, when he's not here, he'll have his loyal servants taking care of the place."

He felt a bit stunned – they'd been talking about ways to keep the authorities from breaking him down, but he hadn't realized that Hawke had already jumped a plan into motion. Granted, he could see where she was going with it, and it made a certain amount of sense – he was still cautiously unsure, however. He liked Sebastian, for what he knew of him, but didn't know how far that would go. "Servants? Am I to pretend I work for _His Highness_, now? And if I'm in public much more you know word will get back to Danarius."

Hawke snorted. "Come on. You don't even act like you work for me most of the time, yet who buys you dinner six days out of the week?" He grinned in response. "Anyhow, Fen, you know that Danarius already knows, or at least will know eventually. I say let him come. Aren't you tired of skulking? Let him come, so we can finally remove his shadow and get _rid_ of him."

Fenris smiled at her use of the word 'we'. "I suppose you're right, Hawke. After all, with Hadriana dead, he'll know that she found me. And I'm sure he'll come looking." He uncorked the bottle of wine and offered it to her, but she shook her head.

"Actually, speaking of Hadriana, that's the second part of the scheme. It won't be just you, since we _will_ be cleaning this place up, and someone needs to keep it clean. I know _you_ won't."

He froze, looking alarmed again. "I'll be moving if you think I'm going to share with someone else. I like Sebastian well enough, but even that's enough to make me twitch."

She smirked again. _Oh no. _"I'm not so sure. I didn't think you disliked Orana that much."

Suddenly, it felt as if the world had dropped out from beneath his feet. He and Orana had been getting along better, it was true – but that was because he'd carefully locked away whatever the mess was that his brain had come up with after the fiasco with Bartrand. _Brain, or heart_? He shook his head, ignoring the internal voice, although he couldn't stop the faint blush. "Orana? Why would she move in?"

She chuckled, and he could tell she was pretending not to notice his pause. "Honestly, I'm hoping you'll help her out. She's a lovely girl, but she's still got so much of the slave mentality. I'm only her mistress so much in that I pay her for the few things I ask her to do around the manor, but she still watches me, like..."

He couldn't resist the pun. "A hawk?"

She groaned. "Indeed. I know you've taken care of her so far, and she is more open with you than with anyone else. You certainly can help her gain some sense of self, since you know exactly what she's gone through. This way you two can help each other with reading when I'm not teaching you. And she's an amazing housekeeper, which will satisfy Sebastian, in case he does have to use the manor for something."

He nodded distractedly. She paused, waiting for him to speak, and finally, he sighed. "Hawke, I don't know if it's such a good idea."

She shook her head. "Come _on_, Fenris. Something has to give. You don't stare after her like a lovesick puppy as much anymore, but you've taken to treating her like she's some precious china doll that you're afraid to touch. Things will never progress this way!"

He blanched. "Progress – what are you _thinking_, Hawke? You know what I am, and what I'm like!" He sighed. "Alright, so yes. I feel something when I'm around her. But I don't even know what that _is,_ Hawke. I don't know what _love_ is – I've never been in love before!"

She just gave him a look. "There's a first time for everything, Fen. I've never been in love either, but that doesn't mean I'm going to reject it if it _does _happen – though fade knows it's unlikely. As for 'what you are,' she was a slave too! _Maker_, if any people were perfect for each other it's you two!"

He snorted, self-depreciatingly. "Even if we _were_ – and I can't believe you're trying to hand her over to someone who's only just gotten past the point of either frightening her or almost killing her every time we meet-"

"It's been _months_, Fen."

He waved a hand. "-then you're going about this while still missing one very important fact."

Hawke blinked. "And that is?"

"_Her_ feelings, Hawke."

She gave him a puzzled look, then laughed out loud. "Are you really telling me that? Fen, she's been attracted to you since she first met you! You should have seen the look on her face when I told her your history – or some of it – and she realized you'd been a slave. I swear it was like she'd seen the Golden City." He blushed crimson and she chuckled. "That day we came back from Bartrand's – you remember it, don't you?"

_How could I not_? He nodded, and she continued. "I don't know what happened, but when you'd gone to bed she came to me. 'Mistress Hawke? Is there a woman named Varania in Fenris' life?'"

His blush deepened, and he thought back to that day, frantically trying to remember. He'd been dreaming and – _oh. I called her Varania, didn't I? That must be why she said what she did that afternoon_.

Hawke smiled as she saw the pieces click into place in his mind. "Don't worry, I've told her that she's your sister, if she even exists. For the last month or more Orana's just been waiting and hoping, Fenris." When he blinked at her, looking stunned, she chuckled. "I'll leave you to think that over. Whatever you decide, I hope you'll at least allow her to move in here. It would really work out well, and no matter what I know you two have become good friends."

He nodded slowly. "I've got to think about it, Hawke. I'm not half as sure as you seem to be. But yes, she can move in _once we've cleaned it up_. There's no way I'd let her live in a hole like this."

* * *

><p>"<em>Venhedis<em>." Fenris swore, kicking at an upturned paving-stone as he and Orana left Hawke's estate one evening in late fall.

Orana raised an eyebrow as she walked demurely at his side, carrying their books. "Do you really dislike him that much, Fenris?"

He passed a hand over his hair, walking over to the small cul-de-sac which overlooked the bay. Propping one foot up on the stone base of the cast-iron railing, he leaned forward, sighing. "Not as much as that fool Anders, but he's still a _mage_, Orana. I don't see what Hawke sees in him. Ever since they met she's been perpetually in his company – and while I grant that he's a pleasant enough person, and a good conversationalist, can't she see how _dangerous_ it is to get so close to him? I don't think even she realizes how her face lights up when he enters the room, and while I'd prefer him to Anders, why can't she be normal and find a _sane_ man?" He groaned. "Hawke, normal? What a joke."

"No one can help who they fall in love with," Orana said, quietly.

He winced, looking away. Things between them were in one of those awkward half-stages; he could tell how she felt, and he knew, deep down inside, that he would be bereft without her company. But he could not bring himself to acknowledge it – could not stop thinking that she could do so much better – and so they spent time together in friendship and never spoke of anything further. He knew it hurt her, but he didn't know what else to do. Sighing again, he tried to push the feelings of guilt to the back of his mind.

"Yes, but _dammit_. Trust Hawke to fall in love with the First Enchanter, the most powerful mage in Kirkwall!"

She set the books down on the railing. "Do you still hate them so much, Fenris?"

He gave her an incredulous look. "How could I not? You know my history - that aside, you know your _own_! How can I not hate them for all they've done to me? There's nothing in my life that magic has touched that it _hasn't_ ruined." She winced briefly, but he could feel the familiar rage building and for now, it overwrote his guilt. "If I could, I'd wipe them all off the face of Thedas."

"That's hardly fair."

"That's what vengeance _is_, Orana."

"I know." Again, her voice was quiet. "That's what Serah Anders says, anyhow."

The words made him freeze, his stomach turning. _How can she _say – _how can she _compare _us? How can she think I'm _anything _like that monster? _He turned to her, covering his confusion and sickness with anger. He opened his mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say that fully expressed his shame-fueled rage, and instead turned back away, striding off.

* * *

><p>Back at the estate – now clean and well-kept, although Sebastian perhaps spent one day out of a month there – Fenris strode to his room and slammed the door, paced the floor once, then came back and threw the door open again, listening for the footsteps that would mark Orana's return. Once he heard the front door open, then her soft, familiar padding move across the foyer – she always took her shoes off, whereas he never wore any – he closed his door again and sank down onto the bench by the fire.<p>

_As if Anders and I have _anything _in common! I have a _right _to feel as I do. _I'm _the one who's been abused by _his _kind. _I'm _the one whose life has been ruined._ He gritted his teeth, thinking back on Danarius and Hadriana – all that they'd put him through. _It's not fair. I never had a choice. I was never allowed to decide my own fate – everything I am now is due to _them. _They made me who I am!_

All of the sudden, a memory floated to the surface – brought there, no doubt, by the fact that Orana had invoked Anders' name so recently. Just the week before they'd all met at the Hanged Man for Wicked Grace; the mage had asked Hawke, bitingly, why she wasn't with the First Enchanter, and she'd answered him patiently, talking about a new set of mages brought into the Circle that Orsino was helping as they adapted to their new home.

Anders had ignored her patience, his voice raised in anger. "_Yes, because of _course_, it's far too important to start the suppression _early_," _he'd sneered. "_Nevermind that they've had their choices taken from them; need to get them indoctrinated quickly so that they become more good little mindless automatons."_

Fenris groaned, putting his head in his hands. Trust a mage to ruin yet another thing the elf clung to. Now all of his arguments held the taint of _Anders_ in his mind. His anger suddenly faded and he felt embarrassed, and rather guilty – especially for taking it out on Orana, because isn't that what Anders did to Hawke? None of it was her fault.

Trying to shove the guilt away, he began to tally the reasons he was right. He started to detail, in his mind's eye, what his life would have been like had he been born somewhere else, in a different place, with no mages around. He'd remember his family, for one. He would never have had the lyrium burned into his flesh – nor would he have been collared and chained like one of the qunari _saarebas_.

Then, some of Orana's stories came to mind – she'd belonged to Hadriana, but spent much of her time serving the magister's mother – a woman with no magic ability whatsoever. The young elf still had scars, just visible along the lower part of her neck, from Lady Stela's whips. He shrugged uncomfortably. _But she was a slave, kept because of Tevinter custom. And all of _that _is thanks to the magisters of the Imperium._

A new thought then struck his mind. _If I hadn't been Danarius's pet, I never would have fled. Nor would I have been driven to Kirkwall, or had to seek out aid. And I never would have met Hawke – or if I had, it would have been with my head down to offer her a tray or drink_. _I only finally realized how much I was missing as a slave once Danarius had been driven aside; if I'd never experienced the cruelty, would I have ever rebelled?_ _No. I'd still be a slave, or at least a servant. Never thinking that perhaps I deserved better_. _And if I hadn't been Danarius' 'little wolf', Hadriana would never have come after me – which means Orana would have never come into our lives. And likely she _would _have been sacrificed to blood magic one day, without Hawke there to save her_.

He shuddered, then shook his head. _But i__t's all I have. I can't give up this hatred – if I do, I'm hollow. It makes me who I am._

Unbidden, another memory surfaced, again with Hawke and Anders, in his clinic. "_You're angry, Anders. I don't want to see you lose yourself, to Justice_ or _the templars_."

The mage had given Hawke a long, sad look. "_But when you take those away, what is left? They make me who I am, Hawke. I cannot give them up_."

Fenris swore again, reaching for the Aggregio on the table nearby. Finding it all but empty, he drained the last mouthful, then flung the bottle into the fireplace, where it shattered into a thousand tiny shards that glittered amongst the ashes – like the fragments of anger smouldering in his mind. _Curse mages and all their kind – I'm not even allowed to have my anger or resentment without their ruining it all_. He pulled another bottle from the rack behind the door and dug the cork out, not even peeling the rest of the wax from the lip. He began to drink, trying desperately to drown his traitorous thoughts so that at least he could sleep.

* * *

><p><em>As always, the characters belong to Bioware. I just use them.<em>


	4. The Taming of the Wolf, pt 4

_It's the end of Fen and Orana's story, but keep watching; next will probably be Sebastian/Flora or Bethany/Nathaniel, unless Varric comes up with a REALLY FUNNY STORY, which sometimes happens. Thank you again for all who are reading this, and I welcome any feedback, good or bad!_

* * *

><p>The next morning Fenris woke, very late, with a headache and a foul taste in his mouth. Blinking for a moment, he realized that he'd fallen asleep propped up against the chair next to the fire. Raising his hand to his forehead, he was surprised when it came away with a cool, damp rag; the empty bottle that should have been at his feet was gone, and there was a now-cold cup of peppermint tea in its place, with a packet of what he recognized as headache herbs on the saucer. He sat up fully, wincing, then drank the tea and took the herbs.<p>

He stirred the fire while he waited for them to take effect and thought back on the previous night. He could tell that the herbs were helping; his thoughts were becoming clearer and he realized just how much of an ass he'd been, especially to Orana. The rest of his thoughts from the night before were a tangle that perhaps wasn't as confusing as he wished it was, but there was no helping that.

After washing his face, he padded downstairs, keeping an ear open; as usual he heard a bustle from the kitchen which suggested that Orana was baking. It wasn't surprising, considering that Hawke was planning on hosting a party to 'introduce' Sebastian to the neighbourhood soon – although to be honest, Orana never needed an excuse to cook or bake. Pausing at the door, he took a deep breath – he wasn't quite sure what he'd say to her, but he figured that "I'm sorry" might be a good start.

Setting the empty teacup on the table, he cleared his throat. "Thank you for the tea and the herbs, Orana. I'm- I'm sorry about last night."

She turned – he noticed for the first time, with surprise, that she no longer started or jumped when he addressed her, even when he caught her unawares. Her cheeks were mildly pink and she shook her head.

"No, Fenris. I owe you an apology." She nodded towards the cup. "How's your head?"

He held up a hand. "It's better, and no, you _don't_ owe me an apology. I got angry over something you had every right to say, so please don't think anything of it." He looked down at the table. "Do I truly sound like Anders when I go off on a rant?"

Orana gave him a half-smile. "You do. It's a little more understandable for you, though. You do have a right, after all, to resent Danarius for all he did to you."

Fenris gave a short laugh. "I see. But I should resent Danarius, and not blame it on magekind, is that what you mean? Hate the man and not the mage." He shrugged. "I don't think it's that easy, honestly. I am who I am, and that's not going to change easily, or overnight. And I can't just 'turn off' my hatred and distrust of mages, you know. Especially as they _are_ dangerous." She nodded, but he shrugged again, continuing. "But perhaps it's time to step back and stop letting them control my life even now, eh?" He rubbed his hand across his forehead. "I probably could have done with about half of that bottle last night."

She put aside the mound of dough she'd been kneading under a warm, damp cloth, and reached into the larder for eggs and butter. Within a few minutes there was bacon sizzling in a pan alongside two eggs, sunny-side-up – his favourite breakfast – and he watched her work with a fondness that surprised even him.

When she sat the food in front of him, he touched her arm lightly before she could turn away. "I'm sure you've been working all morning, why don't you take a break?" She blushed again, but nodded, and brought a pot of tea over to the table for them both to share. Personally, he preferred coffee – the bitter taste suited his mood most of the time – but between Orana and Hawke he was becoming a tea drinker in spite of himself.

They talked for a little while about small things – the weather, Sebastian's party, the Midwinter celebration Hawke had mentioned hosting in a month. The topic led him to encourage her to tell him about her family – she rarely spoke of herself and he enjoyed it when she did. Her stories might not always be happy, but he wanted to know more about her. After all, thanks to Hawke, she already had _his_ life story – as much as he knew of it himself.

She'd just finished telling him about the cakes her father used to make for Midwinter when she paused in realization. "I'm so sorry-" she started, but he shook his head.

"Don't be. I've never begrudged anyone family just because I myself know nothing of my own." He gave a cynical shrug. "Honestly, sometimes I think it does me _better_ that I know nothing of them."

She frowned. "But your sister – Varania. Why don't you write to her and-"

He held up his hand, frowning. "Don't. Hawke's already tried, and my answer is the same as it was then – why should I? I don't know her, I don't remember her, and if she's not a slave then I have no business in her life. I'm better off as I am without the added complications."

She winced. "What if she misses you?"

"She hasn't tried to find me, has she?"

"How do you know that?"

He shook his head, standing. Picking up his now-empty plate, he placed it on a counter and turned to go. "It doesn't matter, Orana. Thank you for breakfast; I'll let you get back to your baking." Leaving the kitchen, he closed his eyes for a moment, surprised at the pain he felt inside; so much for a chance to have a normal, civil conversation with Orana, no matter how much he might want to. _She's better off on her own, anyhow._

* * *

><p>Sebastian's party came and went and a week afterwards the prince was visiting his estate – mostly to talk with Fenris about the possibility of his spending more time there now that he was 'in society' – when Hawke sent a note that surprised the elf very much. Apparently she'd been summoned – not to the Viscount's Keep, but to the qunari compound – the Arishok had asked for her and Viscount Dumar had requested that she not keep him waiting. He liked to think that Hawke would have asked him to go with her anyhow, but he knew that she needed him especially now as he knew a fair amount about the Qun.<p>

Sebastian offered to go with them and Fenris accepted, knowing that it wouldn't hurt to have a second archer on their side if things got messy – and he knew the Arishok _hadn't_ requested Hawke for a social gathering. They met her outside the estate; he was surprised to see that the First Enchanter was at her side, but considering she and Anders had fought just a day or two before, it made sense. He shrugged, and nodded to the mage; it probably wouldn't hurt to have one along and of the three they had at hand – Anders, Merrill, and Orsino – he much preferred the latter.

They made their way to the compound in the docks; a guard stood at the closed gate, but he let them through once he recognized Hawke's face. She'd been there several times in the year before their deep roads expedition and it seemed that the Arishok had remembered her. Fenris shook his head – that might not be a good thing.

The meeting was quick; there was a dearth of social niceties, but that was usual with the qunari. The Arishok's message was short, and to the point – a thief had stolen an important and dangerous recipe and if not stopped, could kill many citizens. _Of course it couldn't be a recipe for qunari _cookies _or something of the sort_. He bit his mental tongue, knowing that the more tired he was, the more sarcastic he became.

Once they had their task, Hawke led them into Darktown and in her usual succinct manner had their target's situation and location in hand well within the hour. He noticed with a raised eyebrow that she made a deliberate effort to avoid Anders' clinic; he was glad, but wondered just how badly their last fight had gone. He made a mental note to talk to her later, see how she was doing. He didn't like Anders, but he hated to see Hawke upset.

They tracked the pathetic dwarf merchant to a cave just outside the city, but in an unsurprising – to Fenris, anyhow, who was feeling particularly cynical – twist, he'd been set up by someone, an elven fanatic bent on wreaking as much havoc as she could and blaming it on the qunari. _More than likely aided, abetted, and perhaps even sponsored by that Chantry harridan who tried to get us killed so long ago. Hawke should do something about her._

Upon entering the Lowtown alley they'd been directed to by Javaris, Fenris winced at the acrid tang in the air. He could feel it burn his nostrils and the back of his throat, and after a few minutes his head began to hurt. Frowning, he redoubled his efforts to find and close all of the barrels; if it was affecting _him_ in this way, he could imagine what it was doing to the others. Hawke was looking ill, Orsino winced as if his head were hurting as well, and Sebastian had already gotten sick in a corner. Luckily for them, the fanatic and her followers had been easy enough to find - had, in fact, thrown themselves at Hawke and company, which made the task of dealing with them so that they could get back to clearing the fog that much easier.

He'd just found what he was relatively certain was the last barrel – it had better be, since he'd broken the worthless rusted crowbar he'd been using to close them upon it, which meant no one was opening _that_ barrel, but also that he had no way of closing any others – when he heard Hawke swear; he snapped his head up, looking for enemies, but instead saw a ragged woman stumble out of a house holding a baby. They all realized the meaning at the same time, and he and Sebastian were already running towards the nearest hovels to look for survivors by the time Hawke had finished her exclamation. He saw her pause, out of the corner of his eye, as Orsino pulled her aside, pointing; he frowned but paid no other attention to it, as he had more important things to attend to.

He paused at the woman who'd struggled out first; she was coughing badly and the baby in her arms was waving its hands feebly. Looking around for a clear place on higher ground, he saw that Orsino had already found such a spot – a raised area with scaffolding and walls – and was dragging an amount of ragged sackcloth into the centre. Fenris steered the woman in that direction, carrying her and the child together once it became clear that she was too weak to climb the steps, and the mage met him at the top, leading her to a space where she could sit. Fenris paused for a moment to watch the First Enchanter begin to examine the child, then hopped down and ran off to the next building.

They were busy for hours; halfway through, the guard joined them, and soon after sisters from the Chantry arrived to aid the sick and wounded. Through it all, he took person after person to Orsino; after the sisters arrived and Fenris was able to share the patients out depending on what kind of care they required, he had a chance to pause and watch for a moment.

Orsino was working – not tirelessly, by any means, as Fenris could tell that he was already weary – but without pause or thought for himself, and Fenris had to grudgingly give him credit. He'd expected the mage to be soft and lazy, considering his scholar's life in the Circle – instead he'd been a boon in their combat and while his energy might not equal Fenris' or Hawke's, it did not seem that he had any intention of complaining. He just worked as fast as he could to aid as many as could.

Things were winding down as he picked up a young half-elven boy to carry over to the sisters; the lad grabbed onto his arm and Fenris winced at the shooting pain. Pausing to look down, he realized that at some point he'd received a pretty sizeable gash – though not deep – across his arm; setting the boy down with one sister he turned to another. Holding out his arm, he rasped out – "Could you, please?" and the woman nodded, though her eyes widened a little at his tattoos. She led him over to sit against the wall, and he took the opportunity to look around; the moon was low on the horizon and there were guards bustling about – carrying away bodies or barrels – but for the most part the work seemed to be over.

Turning his head, he saw Sebastian asleep; he shook his head with a wry smile. A flash of red hair caught his eye and he saw Hawke leading an elderly woman up to Orsino; Fenris frowned when he saw how weary she looked, and was relieved when he saw the mage catch her arm, talk to her for a bit, then lead her over to patch up the wounds _she'd_ received. When that was done she walked over to wake Sebastian; Fenris caught Orsino's eye and gave him a measured nod of respect, which the mage returned with his own wry smile.

* * *

><p>They parted ways in Hightown – Orsino to return to the Gallows, Sebastian to go with the sisters back to the Chantry, and Hawke and Fenris to return to their respective estates. He'd just walked into the paved courtyard in front of the manor – was thinking how <em>nice<em> it was not to have to sneak home every night – when he realized that the front door was ajar and froze, his heart leaping into his throat.

Creeping slowly towards the door, he peered inside and saw that there was no one in the foyer or immediate vicinity. Carefully padding inside, he eased the door shut and barred it; as he made his way stealthily towards the back stairs he paused, hearing voices from the study.

"-'swhat I'm _tellin'_ you! We been casin' this place for a week now, an' that blasted knife-ear ain't left it at night _once_. Why else would 'e be stayin' so close, 'less there was somethin' 'ere? This place belongs to a bloody _prince_. Look 'arder, an' I'll see if I can't make 'er talk."

Fenris realized that "'er" could only apply to Orana and his vision immediately began to cloud with rage, his exhaustion fading as if it had never been. There was just time to hear, "That's right, missy, you be a good elf an' tell me what I want t'know an' I'll go easy on ye," before he kicked the door open, his greatsword raised. There were shouts from the intruders – there were three of them – and a gasp from Orana; her head shot up and the beseeching look of fear and relief that she gave him pierced his heart.

Sometimes it takes one action, one single moment to make someone come to a realization that they might not have found otherwise in months of soul-searching, and that was one such moment for Fenris. For all that he'd convinced himself that Orana had progressed farther into the world than him and was beyond his reach, that one look told him that not only did she love him, but she _needed_ him. She was no Elisebeth Hawke, who could shoot a qunari at twenty paces, but that was fine by Fenris. She was Orana - _hi_s Orana.

The bandits – disorganized gutter trash without even ties to the Carta or Coterie – stood no chance. He flung himself into the room; before the one who'd been threatening Orana could even turn around he was dead, his skull shattered. With a twist of his wrist and a spin Fenris carried the swing over into the second man, and the third had just begun to run, panicked, towards the door when the elf ran him through. He kicked at the body, disentangling it from the blade, and turned to Orana just in time to see her fall to her knees, looking half-stunned.

He dropped his blade and ran forward, catching her just before she fell onto the dead bandit at her feet. Lifting her carefully, he carried her up the few study steps into the back part of the room and dropped into a chair in front of the fireplace, Orana still in his arms. She clung to him, trying not to cry, and he put his lips to her forehead, murmuring soothing endearments in Arcanum that she _did_ understand – having been a magister's slave – and which made her cheeks turn pink, causing her to cling to him even harder.

They sat there for a while, both oblivious to the time of night – now early morning, actually – and their location. Eventually Fenris' weariness caught back up with him and he stood, slowly setting her on her feet. Looking down to the lower level he grimaced. "I'll deal with the bodies later; for now, I need sleep. Will you be able to rest here, or shall I take you to Hawke's?"

Orana shook her head, her hand still on his. "I'll stay," she said quietly, and he led her into the foyer, letting her hide her face against his shoulder as they passed the dead bandits. At the landing they parted for their separate rooms, but at his door, he paused.

"Orana?"

She looked back at him, a small smile on her face. "Fenris?"

He flushed. "Tomorrow, would you – help me write a letter? Your handwriting is better than mine."

* * *

><p><em>The characters belong to Bioware, I just borrow them.<em>


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